THE NEVER GARDEN

The first time Amara heard the flowers whisper her name, she thought she was losing her mind. “Amara…” She stopped walking. The voice was soft, almost tender, like someone calling to her from the other side of a dream. She turned around. Nothing. Only the narrow path behind her, swallowed by shadows and tangled vines. Amara tightened her grip on the strap of her bag. The sun had begun to disappear behind the trees, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple. She should have been home already. Her mother had warned her never to take the old road after sunset, but the shortcut through the woods had seemed harmless enough. Until she found the gate. It stood between two enormous trees, its black iron bars twisted into the shapes of thorny branches. Strange flowers climbed its sides, their petals shimmering as though tiny stars had been trapped inside them. There was no signpost. No name. Yet something about the gate felt strangely familiar. Amara stepped closer. A small golden key hung from the lock. She stared at it. For reasons she couldn't explain, she knew the key belonged to her. “That's impossible,” she whispered. The moment her fingers touched it, a sharp pain shot through her head. A flash of memory struck her. A little girl running through a garden. A girl in white screaming her name. A man's voice shouting, Don't let her remember! Then darkness. Amara stumbled backwards, breathing hard. The images vanished as quickly as they had appeared, leaving her with a pounding headache and a terrible feeling that she had forgotten something important. Something enormous. The key slipped into the lock by itself. Click. The gate swung open. Beyond it lay the most beautiful garden Amara had ever seen. Flowers covered the ground in impossible colours—blue roses, silver lilies, black tulips that glowed faintly beneath the fading light. Trees stretched towards a sky that seemed deeper than the one above the forest. A narrow stone path wound between the flowerbeds, disappearing into a mist that shimmered like water. The air smelled of rain, roses, and something strangely familiar. It was beautiful. Too beautiful. “Hello?” Amara called. Her voice travelled down the path. No answer. She should have left. Every sensible thought in her mind told her to turn around, close the gate, and run home. But curiosity pulled at her like an invisible hand. She stepped inside. The gate slammed shut behind her. Amara spun around and grabbed the bars. “Hey! Open!” She pulled. She pushed. She searched for the lock. Nothing worked. Then she heard it. A whisper. “Amara…” She turned slowly. Every flower along the path was facing her. Their delicate heads tilted in unison, their petals trembling despite the absence of wind. “Amara…” Her stomach tightened. “How do you know my name?” The flowers rustled. Then, from somewhere among the roses, a voice answered. “Because we have been waiting for you.” Amara backed away. “No. This isn't happening.” She pinched her arm. The pain was real. A red rose growing beside the path suddenly bent towards her. Its petals opened, revealing a tiny black centre that looked disturbingly like an eye. “Leave,” it whispered. Amara froze. “What?” “LEAVE!” The rose's stem twisted violently. Its thorns lengthened, scratching the stone beneath it. Amara stumbled backwards, nearly falling. From deep within the garden came the sound of a little girl laughing. Then another voice spoke behind her. “You shouldn't have touched the key.” Amara spun around. A girl stood beneath an archway covered in white flowers. She looked about Amara's age, perhaps a little younger. Her long black hair fell over her shoulders, and she wore a simple white dress that moved gently despite the still air. Her skin was pale beneath the strange silver light. Her eyes were dark, but there was something in them that made Amara feel as though she was looking into a very deep well. “Who are you?” Amara asked. The girl didn't answer immediately. Instead, she studied Amara's face with an expression that looked painfully close to grief. “You've changed,” she whispered. Amara frowned. “Do I know you?” The girl's lips parted, but no words came out. For a moment, she looked frightened. Then she took a step forward. “My name is Rose.” “Rose,” Amara repeated. “Okay. Can you tell me where I am? And how I get out?” Rose glanced towards the gate. “You can't leave.” “Excuse me?” “Not anymore.” Amara felt anger push through her fear. “Look, I don't know what kind of joke this is, but I need to go home.” Rose's eyes filled with tears. “Home,” she whispered. “You always say that.” “Always? I've never been here before!” The moment Amara said it, the garden went silent. Every flower stopped moving. Even the leaves seemed to hold their breath. Rose stared at her. “You don't remember?” “Remember what?” Rose shook her head, as though she was trying to convince herself of something terrible. “No. No, this can't be happening again.” Amara stepped closer. “What do you mean, again?” Rose grabbed her wrist. Her fingers were ice-cold. “Listen to me carefully. Whatever happens, don't follow the music. Don't enter the glass house. And if you hear someone calling you from beneath the ground…” She swallowed. “Whatever you do, don't answer.” A faint melody drifted through the garden. Amara looked towards the mist. The music sounded like a lullaby. Sweet, familiar, and unbearably sad. Rose released her wrist as if the sound had burned her. “It's already started,” she whispered. “What has?” Rose's expression changed. Fear hardened into something almost desperate. “You need to find the heart of the garden before it finds you.” Before Amara could ask another question, the melody stopped. A bell rang somewhere in the distance. Once. Twice. On the third ring, every flower turned towards Rose. She gasped and stumbled backwards. “No,” she whispered. “Not yet.” A dark shadow spread across the path beneath her feet. Amara reached for her. “Rose?” Rose looked up at her, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I'm sorry, Amara.” “For what?” The ground shuddered. Rose's body began to fade, her white dress dissolving into a cloud of tiny silver petals. Amara lunged forward, but her fingers closed around nothing. “ROSE!” The girl disappeared. Silence fell. Amara stood alone in the garden, shaking. Then the ground beneath her feet began to glow. Letters appeared across the stones, one by one, as though an invisible hand were writing them. SHE HAS RETURNED AGAIN. Amara stared at the words. Returned? She had never been here. She was certain of it. Then, from somewhere beneath the stones, came a quiet tapping. Three slow knocks. Amara stepped backwards. A voice rose from beneath her feet. A man's voice. A voice she somehow recognised. “Amara, my little girl…” Her breath caught. The voice sounded exactly like her father's. But her father had been missing for six years. And the last thing her mother had ever told her about him was that he was never coming home. The tapping stopped. Then the voice whispered five words that turned Amara's blood cold. “You promised you'd forget me.” Behind her, the iron gate slowly opened. Amara turned towards it, desperate to escape. But beyond the gate was no forest. No road. No sunset. Only another garden. And standing at its centre was a girl with Amara's face. The girl smiled. Then she raised one finger to her lips. “Shhh,” she whispered. “Rose isn't the one you should be afraid of.”